There were so many tales behind the scars that marred her pale skin, stories of pain and anger, legends of triumph and victory, whispers of work in the shadows. Castalla was a paradox, a woman of sharp beauty but gentle elegance- a creature refined by royalty and bred for the throne. She could entertain a court as well as the best of nobles and she could play the grand Game better than most. Yet she was a creature ravaged by war, marked by the battles she’d faced and gifted with the aggressive, enrapturing gaze of a predator. Beneath it all, beyond the pride and passion, behind the shadows and the lies, were the cracks of a shattered soul, the fragility of a flower hidden down, down, down.
Tonight there is beauty in her suffering, in the silence that surrounds her like the ghosts of her path. Tonight, despite the melancholy caressing her pale skin like the moon far above, her beaten and bandaged soul is still surrounded by the shield of her fearsome visage.
There is strength in Tenebrae’s suffering too, in the way he holds himself despite what Castalla assumes must be a heavy weight upon his shoulders. She is glad for the change of conversation, despite the sadness weighing heavy on them both tonight. Such confessions and sorrow were a vulnerability the Wolf could rarely afford. Yet there was an understanding between the two of them- the mare marked by battles and losses and the steed marked by the moon and the Night. And somehow Castalla felt a little more at ease than she would have expected.
At the explanation Castalla dips her head in understanding, recognising the power a calling like that had. There were many religious groups in Alanaris, some dangerous, some honourable but all drawn by their calling. Though Castalla cannot tell whether it’s pride in Tenebrae’s voice as he talks of his brothers and their mission. “I am sure Caligo and all of Denocte are lucky to have you and yours watching over them,” she says softly.
“I would be happy to share stories of my homeland,” the woman offers, a gentle smile softening her sharp features. “May we meet again Tenebrae of the Stallions.”
With that she watches him melt into the crowds and then, with just a glance cast at the little flames flickering in remembrance, she too takes her leave of the memorial and disappears into the shadows where the moon does not quite see.
@Tenebrae <3
